7. Veyka

I stopped at the lakeside long enough to wash the blood from my weapons and my hands. It would not fool the razor-sharp senses of my companions. But I was in no mood to answer questions about the blood. This at least gave them an excuse to pretend.

When I finally re-appeared at the camp, Lyrena and Cyara were already bedded down for the night. Isolde was on watch. She let me eat the roasted pigeon they'd left for me in silence. But instead of crawling into my empty tent, I tossed the bones into the fire and caught her eye. Tipped my head to the side, toward the line of willows the demarked the boundary of the cursed clearing before Avalon.

Isolde did not even glance at the other tent.

She waited only until we were beneath the swaying tendrils of the willows to whisper, "Where are we going?"

I shrugged. "You wanted to know about my power."

Her bright white eyes lit with excitement. I was too mentally exhausted to question the wisdom of that. I nudged her forward through the trees, into the cursed clearing.

"Is it dangerous?"

"Probably," I said honestly.

She paused only a moment as we cleared the cursed clearing and disappeared into another set of trees.

"Excellent."

I snorted softly, speeding up my steps. Even with her much shorter stature and legs, she kept up. It still would have been faster to take her with me through the void. But I wanted to save my focus.

When I glanced back, her eyes were shining. I swallowed hard. "You spent too long in those faerie caves."

"My entire life."

Caged—she'd been caged just like me. A newfound surge of warmth built in my chest. We stepped out onto the beach, far from our companions, far from where the boat had crossed from Avalon. But still on the edge of the lake.

I extended my hand. "Are you ready?"

"Always, Your Majesty."

The warmth in my chest twisted painfully. For all that I might feel connected by our similarities, Isolde saw me unequivocally as her queen. Which made her mine to protect.

Mine to use.

The warmth inside me turned back to ice. But I reached into my ember of power anyway.

I'd imagined that the mist merely encircled Avalon. That once I set foot upon the sacred isle, the thick fog would melt away. But I was wrong.

I felt the magic—the power—before I'd even fully materialized back into my body. If that cursed clearing where I'd faced Gorlois was the absence of magic, its suppression, Avalon was power unleashed.

Would it have felt like this, before? Before the Joining and my void power? Or would I have been blissfully unaware of the power crackling along my skin, the magic that tickled the inside of my nose as I drew in a breath?

Joints cracked at my side. Isolde, rolling her neck, rotating her tiny shoulders. She felt it, too.

Feeling was all we could do. We couldn't see shit through the mist.

Isolde, even standing directly at my side, would have disappeared entirely if I hadn't still been holding her hand. With her white skin, white hair, white eyes, she almost seemed to be made of mist.

But her hand tightened on mine, her tiny white braids settling back onto her shoulders as she looked up at me expectantly. Awaiting orders.

I could not see more than a few steps in front of us. We stood in thick grass, the dew discoloring the toes of my leather boots. The sun had not fully risen—not that I could see it through the fog. But time was immaterial when I stepped through the void. One second we were beneath the weeping willows, the next second we were shrouded in Avalon's mists.

I couldn't hear the lapping of the lakeshore. Which meant Avalon was larger than I'd supposed, and we were further inland than I'd intended.

Not good. But I'd analyze the implications of that later.

Now—Arran.

I reached for the bond, wrapping myself around the golden thread of connection. Slender, taut, and pulling. Pulling me toward him. The mating bond was very much alive within me, and stronger now than it had been in weeks.

Was Arran healing? Could he feel it too? Would he emerge from those mists, whole and hard and perfect?

No. If he was up and able, he'd already be at my side.

As I stepped forward into the fog, Isolde at my side, I desperately tried to temper my expectations. To remind myself to be realistic, that Arran had been so gravely injured…

But hope lingered inside of me.

Foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, this part of my ordeal was nearly over.

We followed the pull of the bond, step by agonizingly slow step. Even as the demand in my chest intensified, I forced my feet to move with deliberate slowness.

After several minutes of walking, I could not see more than a few steps ahead. The mist was relentless. I'd never seen a priestess wield a blade, but they must have sentries of some sort guarding their sacred fortress.

Was it a fortress?

So far, all we'd seen was thick green grass that was almost eerie in its perfection. No patches of mud, no weeds or wild flowers. Not even a sloped incline to indicate we were moving toward the center of the island.

But the magic buzzing all around us… where was it coming from, if not living beings?

My hand fell to the scabbard at my belt. The sacred trinity. Objects of magical power created here in Avalon. I should not presume to know how magic worked here. Not with ancient prophecies and demons from other realms at play.

I nearly choked on the thought.

But not merely that. Something else was rising up in my chest. The bond.

I'd been so determinedly ignoring the demand, only acknowledging it enough to let it lead me. Now it overtook me, demanding satisfaction.

I couldn't breathe.

Isolde's hand fell away. So did the mists.

Or maybe I just ceased to see them. To see anything, notice anything. My entire existence narrowed.

Right there. Right there in front of me was my mate.